A Man's Last Note
by Sigma404
Summary: Dark. Comical. Why would our secondary characters even bother to get up in the morning, such as Roman Torchwich, and our dearest Ooblek? Sure our Beacon teams have a reason to live, but what about our secondary characters? On that note, heres a series of one shots.


_Shameless one shot. This is to draw reviews, to hone my writing skills in the name of my regular stories.  
Please leave a constructive comment. If you're confused or enthralled by this story, please say why._

_And as always, have a nice day._

* * *

_This will be the day we've been waiting for..._

Limping along, I grinned at the thought: each step I take, each passing moment is closer to my grave. Of course this would had been waiting for it.

Forgive such a cold analytical opening. Its difficult to be anything else when you're... Oh, I don't know... Bleeding to death? My bare feet make their prints on the gentle sand with the blood which drips down my exhausted body.

Forgive that little bit of sarcasm. It's my favorite literary device, but I used it intentionally.

Because if you're willing to forgive me twice, then once more wouldn't be too much to ask for.

Forgive me of my sins, Roman.

You should be about four years old when you began to read this. If only you were older.

We could have died together, Roman.

If you think that's cold, dark, and pessimistic, then you haven't ever sat waiting for your death before. At least, not alone. The melancholy is intoxicating. But its something you'll be drunk upon if you make my same mistakes.  
They're the mistakes that every single person in your family also had made.

Your mother.

Your father.

Myself, your brother.

Hell, even your cat.

Did you know that you had a cat? Or maybe you grown bitter to the sight of animals? I suppose its understandable, all the little demon did was bite you.  
Once you're old enough to move out, this city? Vale?

Leave.

In between the military, Beacon Academy, and your regular civilian life, you will unquestionably find yourself with a weapon in your hands.  
Because otherwise, your life will never be your own.  
At least even as a common thug, you can choose who you follow.

Don't bother with a police uniform. They're the first to be consumed in a police breakthrough, with the exception of the first half dozen civilians: the ones who called you in during the last moments of their life.

Don't bother with a military career. They're second to be lost to the grim, the last line of defense before the hunters. Beyond killing other people, simply because they aren't Valesian, you would have the face value of a pawn when as a soldier.

Don't bother even as a hunter. For every hero, there may be a hundred footstools. Maybe even thousands. Either you'll kill yourself from survivor's guilt, or meet the same grim fate as the previous two career paths. Its why they call it a Grim ending.

If you're offered a teacher's post at Beacon, or a high military post, then that just means that you're an underpaid sociopath and murderer. Of course you heard of the Faunus, these creatures would become your sharpening block.

Never enter politics. Should you do so, your world would becomes a warzone of words, turning you pale at the suggestion of blood. Best fight for others, then rally others to fight for you at the mere spindling of words.

All those previous professions are the ones of this would which carry even the slightest value and recognition, at least, the kind that makes people talk, and write.  
Sure you can do well in any of these. You will have the talent for these things, that much is unquestionable.

But criminals have all the fun. They're labeled as criminals, because their job description is the ultimate mixture of each of these pursuits written above this one.

Not all criminals are 'evil', have you heard of a nation called Ancient Rome? There was no police, but there was a gang which did a reasonable job at maintaining order.

The criminal life is imagination on Remnant's sandbox mode, build an empire! Destroy the world! Create utopia! Make us proud.

Your family's mistake, was refusing to wear a good suit in all of this. We lacked numbers, and the skills to rally warm bodies to the cause. We could have won. Try it someday.

But remember, the deeper you delve into the darkness, the more fun it is to extinguish light. Don't believe me? Kill one of your own, as they crawl at your feet, pleading to be saved. This same phrase is your personal test. If you see nothing wrong with this action, then simply break every law you physically can. If not, attempt being the more benevolent rogue.

* * *

Walking down the street, the same Roman Torchwick, some four years after reading this, found himself firing grenades carelessly through the windows of random shops.

_Isn't this fun?_

Spoiling the moment of glee, a particular black and red scythe slashed across the chest of his very own lieutenant. Looks like the hunters decided to make a last stand after all. But there weren't that many left to be a threat, anyways.

Gasping, drooling blood, clawing at the air, the same mashed lieutenant seemed no longer the respect demanding pinnacle of strength, but a dying, pathetic child.

Walking over by his side, the particular Roman Torchwick raised his cane, and smacked the side of the dying mans temple before the bleeding one could say a word. Eyes bulging in surprise and disgust, Ruby Rose spoke, ever the humanist.

"Torchwick, what in this world is wrong with you?!"

Smirking, the suited assassin spun his cane in his hand, then resting the walking support on his shoulder.

"Please, little girl, it was on my to-do list."


End file.
